


Fox Tales

by Aelwyn



Series: Eagle's Kin [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Pure Crack with some light angst seasoned in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27618178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelwyn/pseuds/Aelwyn
Summary: Oh come to me, hear my call,Inside the forests so green and tallI see the ground from up so highOn Eagle’s Wings I whirl through the skyBut mistake me not for a Bird of PreyI trod the ground and there I stayWith tricks and tracks and words so slyBut ask my name and find me shyOh Mr. Fox who uses such cunningWhere are you going that you’re always runningWhere do you come from that gives such shameWhy turn your life into the longest gameWhat do you see and how do you knowWhere the Eagle shelters from the snowThe Fox chases below the Eagle aboveIn an endless cycle begun we know not thereof-The Fox’s Tale, by Aelwyn
Relationships: None
Series: Eagle's Kin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017811
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	1. The Ides of March

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yourlocalbirb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourlocalbirb/gifts).



> This is being gifted to yourlocalbirb because quite honestly Volpe’s depiction in Eagle’s Kin is all their fault, and I have to give him his own collection of shorts so that he doesn’t commandeer my entire “plot.” I was intending to post this later, but yourlocalbirb needed a Volpe pick me up this week. Here's to you, friend. Enjoy the chaos, I've only just begun.
> 
> Also. Please note that I have not read the comics so if any information about Gaius Cassius comes from that it was taken from the Wiki. This is also a Crack Fic so don’t take continuity too seriously.

Grimacing as he stared at the droplets of blood on his fine robes, Giaus Cassius made his way out of the Forum. Brutus had elected to stay inside, watching on with enthusiasm at the little ritual they had engaged in, but he had no stomach for prolonged agony. It made him nauseous.

“Of the sixty or so who promised their support only a third have followed through,” Aya said with a snarl. She was leaning against a column sharpening her knife, hood up and presence dark and menacing.

“Not all are fashioned for bloodshed Mentor,” Cassius suggested with a respectful bow of his head. “And it is a blood frenzy in there. I... may... have accidentally stabbed poor Brutus in the hand at one point before it got too intense.”

“You didn’t stay for the aftermath then?”

“Taking pleasure from mutilating one who is already dead is a senseless, base endeavor. And as our Creed implies we must have respect for death. The dead cannot speak. Best to leave them in peace to whatever afterlife they feel compelled to.” 

“And that is why I value your counsel my friend,” Aya replied with a smile. “You are wise for your years and know when to stay your hand.” She sighed, pushing off the column, and began to walk towards Rome proper. “Marc Antony has stirred the people toward an uprising, I fear. You and the other conspirators will not be safe here.”

“Brutus and I are to make for Crete within the fortnight.” Cassius’ lavender eyes flashed with determination as his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. “For what we have done we do not expect praise nor glory. It is for the people that we have acted, and if the people decide that we shall pay for their benefit then we will take our leave.”

“Good. This is not a place where you can hide easily, especially being a known public figure.” She paused. “Gaius... I wonder if I might persuade you to change course for Egypt rather than Greece. The journey may be farther, true, but we have allies there in our sister Bureau. Hidden Ones who can welcome and support you.” 

“I plan on going wherever Brutus goes,” Cassius said cautiously. “I cannot abandon him when we have been through so much together. He is my Brother in Creed. Was it not you who stated that we should never compromise our Brotherhood?”

“We have done nothing but compromise it with the death of Caesar,” Aya muttered. “But it was a necessity. He who sets himself up, who calls himself the Father of Understanding, who declares himself emperor of Rome, cares not for the people we aim to protect.” Her expression darkened. “And Cleopatra has much to answer for. Not this day, and not for many more after, but eventually she too will feel the sting of my blade.” 

“Forgive me, but it seems a... personal vendetta upon which you seek to embark,” Cassius said carefully. “We are not the blade of vengeance but of justice.”

“I gave her the best of my talents in service to her regaining the throne of Egypt,” Aya snapped. “And she beds with the very people responsible for the death of my son.” 

“If we were to continue from Greece into Egypt where might I find these Hidden Ones?” He said, tactfully changing the subject. “And to whom can I expect to pledge my allegiance?”

“The Sinai. It- you will find there Bayek of Siwa, my... my former husband.” She drew a breath. “We founded this Order together with very different ideas about how to go about executing the practices of our common views. And so I lead the Chapter in Rome, and he leads the Chapter in the Sinai. Cassius... If you do meet with Bayek... give him my best. Will you?” 

“I’m not kissing him for you, but I’ll pass along more platonic and cordial regards,” Cassius promised. Aya bit her lip to hide a smile and nodded. 

“You would be a good advisor to him, Cassius. Bayek is... ruled by his heart more often than his head.” She frowned slightly. “And I am just the opposite, I fear. Too dichotomous of a relationship is just as harmful as one where both parties are in complete agreement.” 

“I will do my best to aid our Brotherhood wherever I am sent. Brutus and I am taking several other at risk followers with us to Crete. Either we bolster the Sinai, or we set up a new Chapter.”

“Then I wish you fair skies and gentle seas,” Aya said decisively. “Safe journeys.”

“Be careful here, with the unrest.”

“I will.”


	2. Keeper of the Staff

Breath came sparingly, each one ragged and torn from his burning chest as he ran from the Legionnaires sent to kill him. Brutus had followed on his heels, and the few Hidden Ones that had come with them from Rome to Crete were already dead or lost in this wilderness. The Bureau had burned. Now, on the shores of Macedonia after fleeing their new home, Gaius Cassius feared for his life.

He was not like his brother-in-law Brutus, who prowled beside him like a loosed lion in the Colosseum. No. He had been a politician. A man of words rather than action. As a Hidden One he had had minimal weaponry training and all but none when it came to free-climbing. He had been assigned the role of an archivist, collating and parsing through the data their Bureau received on a daily basis. And now here he was, running for his life.

Brutus turned against the onslaught with a mighty bellow and launched himself into the fray, the Legionnaires falling around him in surprised terror. He had consigned himself to a warrior’s death, then. Death in battle. Cassius kept running.

Fleet of foot, a naturally dexterous and nimble person though unskilled in how to put it to good use, he could sprint with the best of them and the armor they wore was heavy when compared to the bright red cowled robes Cassius wore. Outpacing his pursuers, he stumbled through the sleepy streets of Philippi and out through the gates toward the forests. Wild and untamed, filled with hungry predators, but... his only chance.

Underbrush bit at his face, his arms, his feet, as he ran. Sharp rocks caught on the toes of his sandals. Low-hanging branches snagged on his hair. The sun had gone down several hours prior, the battle of Brutus’ final stand fading with distance. Coming to the end of a long ravine only to find a sheer wall of stone before him, Cassius collapsed onto his knees and let out a defeated sob. Head hung low, chest heaving with each shuddering whimper, all he could do was listen to the thudding footfalls of the Roman Legion approach.

They came to a heavy halt, many of them, and the sound of metal being drawn from sheathes caused him to flinch.

“If you must, make it quick,” he breathed, rising to a stand and turning to face them, chin high. “I can run no farther, but I will face the inevitable with honor.” Shaking fingers reached up to pull his peaked hood back over his head from where it had fallen to his shoulders. Swords and spears raised against him.

Then, the soldiers’ eyes widened and focused on something behind him. The whistling sound of many arrows shot through the trees and hit their marks squarely in the necks and eye sockets of the Legionnaires, followed quickly by the tip of a spear attached to an ornate hilt. It spun almost lazily, glowing and leaving a trail of sparks behind it, as it flew straight and embedded itself deeply into the left heavy breastplate of an axeman’s chest. He fell with a loud thud. Those remaining turned and ran as a figure leapt over Cassius’ head and slammed their feet into the back of the guard captain, a mighty shout issuing from his rescuer’s lips. They pulled a dagger from their sheath and used it to slit their prey’s throats, crouching and glaring after the other soldiers.

“Romans are weak sport,” a woman’s voice muttered as the figure rose and pulled the spear free, cleaning it on a robe of the fallen. She then set about retrieving her arrows with a clinical efficiency. “What I wouldn’t give for a Persian or Athenian with the blood of the gods beating in their hearts.”

All Cassius could do was gape. Standing before him, under the light of a full moon in the open ravine like a ghost, armor gleaming as if it were new, stood a Spartan Warrior pulled straight from the murals and writings of centuries past. As she pulled her helmet from her head a loose brown braid fell to her shoulders, burnt umbre eyes focusing sharply on where he stood frozen.

“And who might you be?”

“Ca- Gaius Cassius- Longinus, formerly of- of Rome,” Cassius breathed. “Ah. W- who do I have to thank for my ah- my rescue?” The woman smirked slightly at his unease and deftly pocketed her weapons in their proper places as she strode toward him.

“Kassandra, of Sparta, and a long when from home.”

“...When?”

Kassandra led him back toward a small home, by the sea. The place looked broken down and desolate and it was obvious to all who came upon it that it hadn’t been lived in for some time. Kassandra was merely occupying it for the moment before moving on. Cassius, sitting stiffly beside the fire she had made, took note of the sparse objects she had brought with her. A pack for supplies, a cloak against the winds and weather, a bedroll...

...And a staff. It looked like the Staff of Hermès Trismegustus, as he had seen only in drawings, but the glowing lines...

“That is an Artifact, of Those Who Came Before,” he murmured.

“Like me, a relic from a bygone age.” As usual, her gaze pinned him to the spot by the sheer weight of what they had seen. “I will tell you the story behind it.”

“...I’m not sure I’m going to like the meaning you give that statement.”

“No, I don’t think you will.”

Kassandra explained her story. Who she was, who she had been, where she had gone and much of what she had seen. How she had fought in the war between Sparta and Athens over four hundred years ago as a mercenary for hire. How she had ultimately avenged the tearing apart of her family on the members of a group much like the Order of the Ancients called the Cult of Kosmos - and how she had eventually fought the Ancients as well and lost the new family she had managed to forge in the process.

She explained the Staff, and its power to give immortality so long as its Keeper held claim to it. How she had been told that the time would come to choose an Ally to Keep it, that would guide her in her many forms throughout the ages. How she felt the Pull toward him. _Him._ Gaius Cassius Longinus, a Hidden One whom she had had to save that very evening.

“But... But how will I know you?” He stuttered when she had finished, overwhelmed. “You will wear a different form!”

”You must look with your Sight rather than your eyes,” Kassandra said, amused. “Before I depart the Staff to you, I will teach you how to use it. Know that this is a rare gift you possess, and that being taught to use it by a Remnant Isu is an even rarer honor. Your Sight will be strong, and unique because of it. While others depend on the collective input of their five senses to form their Sixth, you can rely on your Sixth alone. And maybe... one day... we will meet again.”

“This is so much to understand,” Cassius sighed, drawing his knees to his chest and plonking his forehead against them with a shuddering breath. “Why choose me?”

“Because... I trust you to stay strong, and that you will be honest toward me where others might run from the weight of the world on their shoulders.” Kassandra’s smile was soft and sympathetic as she laid a hand on his shoulder. “You will get tired, my friend. You will become weary and jaded. But I don’t think you’ll ever lose sight of your duty to the people. And for that I entrust such a task to you.”

_They spent about two weeks together as Kassandra awakened and trained his Sight, and though they had known each other for such a short time, Cassius was dismayed when she bequeathed the Staff to him and vanished in an explosion of golden sparks._

_He set off for Egypt, as Aya had requested, with a heavy heart and the unfamiliar weight of the Staff upon his back. Kassandra had given over her possessions to him including her spear for safe keeping until she could hold it again, and with the Staff gently guiding his Sight - so much more than simply seeing - he felt drawn toward the banks of the Nile._

_Cassius was best left dead in Macedonia with Brutus, his body unrecovered. The Keeper drew his hood over his head and walked toward the sea._

_He had a ship to catch._


	3. Plebes of Thebes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where Cassius settles on a permanent title. So, regardless of what language said title is spoken in henceforth, the narrative will refer to him simply as ‘The Fox’ to minimize confusion. 
> 
> Cassius = The Fox.

Hot, dusty air slammed into his nostrils as he stepped off the merchant ship into the market district of Thebes. Despite the humidity of the Nile, the air was thick with sand particulates from a fierce gale that seemed unseasonal. Having never been to Egypt, Cassius was at a loss as to where he was supposed to be going. Not knowing what Bayek of Siwa looked like, he had no idea how to find his objective when his objective was, in point of fact, a master of stealth

He needn’t have worried, however. There couldn’t be many people in Thebes crazy enough to fight the mummified undead when they appeared out of nowhere walking in the center of the city, much less come out uninjured and with a grin on their face. Cassius grinned and raised his hands to cup his mouth.

“You wear the cowl of a Hidden One yet fight with the spirit of a Misthios!” He shouted. Bayek turned abruptly on his heel, dark eyes wide with surprise, and with a furrowed brow he walked toward Cassius.

“And you, my brother?” He asked uncertainly, head tilted ever so slightly to the side. “You speak with the tongue of the Alexandrians out of the mouth of a Roman.”

“I... outstayed my welcome after the Ides of March and Amunet suggested I make my way to the Sinai,” Cassius confessed with a shrug. “And so I have been doing, after a misguided tenure in Cyprus and a death-defying chase through Macedonia.”

“Are you Brutus, or are you Cassius?” Bayek questioned, relaxing. “Ay- _Amunet_ spoke often of both of you.

“Cassius. Brutus was... Brutus was the braver of us.” He hung his head. “And he was my brother-in-law.”

“Then I am sorry for your loss. I can assume you were stopping here for supplies, before moving on?” They began to walk, side by side, and Cassius swallowed as Bayek subconsciously fell into an accustomed step beside him.

“I met someone quite interesting in ah, in Macedonia,” Cassius said casually as he adjusted his grip on his walking stick. It had taken a matter of weeks to discover he could conjure up an illusion around the staff to hide its true nature and to any but the keen observer it was no more than a beat up old shaft of wood. “She saved my life, you know.”

“Oh, and who would that be?”

“Her name was Kassandra.” Bayek immediately stopped dead in his tracks and Cassius turned about in his stride to face him. “She made me Keeper. She also speculated you would have no idea who I was because of the Staff. But I’m here now. And apparently I’m not to go anywhere for quite some while.”

“Then we shall have much to speak of. Did you know, but Amunet was the only other person I have ever told?”

“I did not. This must be strange then, speaking so openly about it.”

“It is.” Bayek blew out a breath and rolled his shoulders nervously. “Did you know Kass long?”

“Only a matter of weeks. She showed me how to use my sixth sense to the best of my abilities and then passed on when she gave me the Staff. And- and when I look at you. I can see her in you. It- I’m not certain how to describe it. But I can.” A small smirk played at his lips as they began walking again out of necessity as the market of Thebes grew irritated by their blocking of the road. “Only someone with her spirit would be foolish enough to fight the undead.”

“I think I might end up liking you at the end of all this,” Bayek muttered, stifling his laughter and patting Cassius on the shoulder. “But come. There is much to do before nightfall.”

As it turned out, ‘much to do’ meant exploring a necropolis and fighting off bandits. Bayek, Medjay that he was with the skill and experience of a Misthios behind him, came out of it with nary a scratch and a few new daggers. But Cassius, who had spent the majority of his life in Rome as a politician, fared worse. Deep gashes adorned his left bicep where a cat o’ nine tails had left its mark, his nose was broken, and after several years of being meticulously careful he had activated his hidden blade in a fit of blind panic and lost his ring finger as a result.

“So? He asked, spitting out blood from a cut he’d made on the inside of his cheek with his teeth. “How’d I do?”

“I have never once seen a worse fighter in my life,” Bayek said honestly. “Luckily for you, my role as Mentor is to train Novices.”

“I’m hopeless,” Cassius sighed, letting his head crack hard against the stone wall he was leaning against. After a few minutes of silence he cracked open an eye to glare at a highly amused Bayek. “You don’t have to agree with me, you know.”

“And as I said, I’ll teach you.”

“You really think I can get better?”

“I’ll teach you,” Bayek repeated, walking quickly out of the necropolis. Cassius frowned.

“That wasn’t what I asked!”

“Wasn’t it?”

“No!” He scrambled to his feet and chased after. “Bayek! Hey- hey wait!”

-/\\-

“Did you ever think it would be this way?” Cassius asked softly as they sat, feet dangling in empty air, on a ledge overlooking the Duat. “That you would see such amazing worlds?”

“I’m still not sure that this isn’t some sort of elaborate Isu illusion,” Bayek sighed. “I didn’t see my son in the Field of Reeds. If these worlds are to be the afterlife, then where has my son gone? Where have the men and women of the Order of the Ancients ended up? My father, or those I knew in a past life? They are not here. We are surrounded by the dead, yet only those who died most recently are ones we have seen.”

“You suspect these are... simulations, they prey on the freshest surface memories? That explains much. Why I do not see Brutus or the other fallen brothers and sisters of Cyprus and Rome.” There was a long period of silence. “Still. These worlds are quite beautiful, if a bit desolate. What is the purpose of such illusions, do you think?”

“To teach lessons?” A shrug. “Or to make those who seek to plunder the tombs of the pharaohs regret the paths they have chosen. This place... It feels similar to... Isu had a place, a sort of Afterlife, called ‘The Grey.’ Imagine a billion minds joined together over an artificial network, connected. Imagine a person’s soul departing the body to dwell in eternity in the Grey. Imagine that they are no longer interactive, but present and sleeping, their knowledge and wisdom able to be accessed through memory by a device we once called ‘The Aerie.’ It is... truly a wondrous thing. Deadly, to the unprepared, but a marvel of engineering and a mark of arrogance both.”

“A guaranteed Afterlife,” Cassius mused. “It sounds too good to be true.”

“In a way it was,” Bayek muttered darkly. “What is a mind without a soul but pure logic without passion? For that is what the Grey is, my friend.” He sighed, stretching backward slightly and popping a vertebrae in his back as he did so. “Now. What do you say we lay these kings to final rest.”

“You mean, ‘again?’ Because it’s already been done once,” Cassius retorted with a smirk.

“...Did your words have this much bite in them with Kassandra? Because something tells me they did not.”

“The difference between you and Kassandra is that I can write to Amunet if you abuse me,” came the wry reply. “And, as she likes me, she’ll come down here and tell you off for it.”

“Ah, ah I see.”

-/\\-

_ Several Years Later_

Ragged breath soaked in the dusty air of the Sinai, rich red dirt packing beneath soft-soled boots, and Cassius let out a soft profanity as he slipped on a jump and loose shale clattered down the sheer cliff face. He grit his teeth as he climbed, the vibrant peaked crimson cowl he wore twisting in a gust of wind with the white silk sash about his waist wrapping itself around one of his legs and causing him to trip again. With a huff, he pulled himself over the top onto the flat expanse of the mining quarry and leapt from the stone onto a tarpaulin, wobbling dangerously as he realized it was covering a flatbed cart. Nearby was a pulley with a heavy block swinging from it, close enough to...

A triumphant shout rent the silence of pre-dawn and with a smirk Cassius moved quickly to the side, rolling beside the pulley, and with a swipe of his dagger severed the rope. The block crashed onto one end of the cart, sending a screaming Bayek flying several feet into the air. The Mentor landed clumsily on a beam but stuck the landing, eyes wild with adrenaline as he fought to calm his breath.

“You all right, Old Eagle?” Cassius laughed.

“You’ve learned to become quite clever, Little Fox,” Bayek muttered, leaping nimbly from the beam and landing in a crouch in the sand with a wince. “A true Tha’lab Ahmar.”

“Red, for the color of my cowl?” Cassius murmured thoughtfully. “Would that be a good name, you think? Tha’lab Ahmar? ‘The Red Fox?’ Or ‘The Fox,’ generally? I haven’t had a name since Macedonia, not a proper one anyway. A title would serve just as well. I’ve grown quite fond of the nickname you’ve given me whilst here.”

“If you like it then that’s good enough for me, Fox,” Bayek said gently, smiling. He walked forward and laid a hand over Cassius’ - The Fox’s - shoulder. “And I think you have learned all I can teach you. You are a Novice no longer, but a true Hidden One.”

“And I am grateful for the home you have given me here,” the Fox replied with a short respectful bow. “Every opportunity you have given me, whether in this life, the last, or those to come, will not be squandered.”

“I know. I have faith in you. Shall we go to meet the sunrise, my brother?”

“Stop! Assassins! They’ve murdered the General!”

“Yeah, good luck,” the Fox snickered, leaping nimbly from the edge of the fortress walls into a neat recovering roll at the top of the hill. Bayek landed beside him with a loud, pained grunt, and his smile faltered. “Are you all right?”

“Knees, always the first to go,” Bayek muttered, clenching his teeth as he stood and dusted himself off. “Knees and the back... Age comes for us all in the end, even me. Come on. Don’t want to get caught around this place.”

“Bayek...”

“Yes?”

“It doesn’t come for us all.” The Fox swallowed, fighting back the cold shiver of dread. “We’re the same age, you and I, give or take a few years... yet you have silver while I stay the same. Kassandra, she- she was barely thirty, if even that, when I met her, yet she was centuries old.” Bayek stopped short and sighed, turning toward him with a somber expression.

“Then find me, my friend. Find me and I will know you, if you let me.”

_Bayek began missing jumps. The Fox soon outpaced him as they ran, outlasting him in fights. He took fewer and fewer field assignments as the years dragged on, preferring to operate in semi-retirement at the Bureau directing the younger generation. All the while the Fox remained by his side, his pupil, his brother, his closest friend and confidante. Even old and grey, he maintained a spark of something inside him, a warmth, that could only be described as ‘life.’ For a man who had lost so much, he exuded such joy at simply living that it was infectious toward all who met him. There was always a spring in his step, even when he resorted to using a walking stick for support, and a twinkle in his eye._

_And then he developed a cough._

-/\\-

“Cassius.” The Fox swallowed and turned away from the door to face the room.

“I’ll never hear my true name again, you know,” he whispered. Bayek gazed at him sympathetically before he descended into a racking cough. Crossing the room with leaden feet and a heavy heart, he poured a cup of water from a nearby pitcher and waited for the hacking fit to subside. When it did, he tilted Bayek’s head up and helped him drink.

“Did you send the letter to Aya?” Bayek asked hoarsely. He had years ago confessed to the Fox that she would always be Aya to him, even though through the years she had been known longest as Amunet.

“I did.” The Fox glanced out the window. “Senu is outside.”

“What happened to Ikaros, when...?”

“He disappeared. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He turned, placing the pitcher and cup down on the table again, and then made the pillows more comfortable. “Rest, my friend. Surrender to the long sleep, and when you wake, the cycle will begin anew.”

“I’ll see you again my brother, I’ll see you...” Bayek’s breath came raggedly, before petering out shallowly as his eyes fluttered closed, and he took his last.

“None of them will ever be like you,” Cassius choked, allowing that mantle to grieve before he cast it off for the final time. Outside, Senu let out a soft screech and lifted off her perch, wings beating toward the rising sun, as her feathers seemed to dissolve into golden dust and the wind carried her remains away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to the letter Bayek spoke of, it can be read at the settlement in *Valhalla.* I will say no more on that except that you can find it there, or look it up on the internet accordingly. 
> 
> Additonally, the Eagles the Assassins have are a sort of weird cross between Daemons from “His Dark Materials” and Spirit Guides from “Avatar: The Last Airbender.” Meaning they don’t have to be nearby and other people can touch them, but they’re sort of a representation of the Eagle Kin’s Soul and they will live until that body dies.


	4. The Merchant of Melons

Lavender eyes scanned the Jerusalem marketplace with disinterest. Malik had come by earlier that morning, successfully bartering information for low prices on goods, and the Fox sighed. He had long ago gotten used to the heat of the Levant region, but today of all days he wished for a cool wind.

This heat was dry, dry and still, and it felt like a storm was approaching even though the skies were clear. Even the bustle of the holy city couldn’t draw him out of his melancholy.

“Tha’lab Ahmar,” a familiar voice said gruffly. The Fox smiled wistfully, turning toward Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad and leaning lazily on the counter of his market stall.

“Back for more melons?” He asked cheekily. Altaïr scowled. “Relax, Little Eagle. A friend of Malik’s is a discount customer of mine.”

“I’ve come to ask for information.”

“Of what kind?”

“...Cargo movements.”

Altaïr was not Bayek. His mannerisms, the gait in which he walked, even the way he approached problem solving. None of it was the same. Altaïr was reclusive and somber, usually quite serious. Bayek had been cheerful and kept a sense of humor about him, smiling through the pain he garnered over the decades. Part of that had to do with the environments they had been raised in, of course. Bayek had had a family. Altaïr had been orphaned at eleven.

They were not the same. It made it easier, somewhat, for the Fox to interact with him because of that. It also meant he couldn’t bear to be around him for extended periods of time, and unfortunately for Altaïr it also meant that he could be a bit mean in his mischief-making. Such as the melon incident, for example. Everything else at the stall was regular or discount price, but the melons would always be triple.

“Information, you say? On cargo movements. Well, you’ll have to be far more specific. Many shipments come in and out of the city on a regular basis.”

“The shipment of people.” The Fox’s hands stilled in organizing the items of his stall and he swallowed.

“...I see. Of course, I will help you. Trafficking is a dirty and sinful business. It should be eradicated from our city as soon as possible.”

“On that we are agreed.” There was a pause as Altaïr pinned him in place with those burning golden eyes of his, frowning. “I feel as if I should know you.”

“Of course you should,” the Fox replied nervously, fighting the urge to give in to the impulse of a nervous tic. “We engage in business.” He had taken to wearing a thick beard and heavy turban to obscure his features, his short hair grown long and falling to his shoulders. Even his Roman accent had faded over the centuries to blend with the local dialect better. He was very much a different looking and sounding man from what he had once been. Of course, when you were immortal, making sure you didn’t stand out was a priority of survival.

“No, beyond that. Your name... it is somewhat rare. It scratches at something just out of reach. If you...” Altaïr squinted before sighing, what the Fox only realized as hope when it faded into disappointment fleeing his gaze with the slumping of his shoulders. “Ignore me, my friend. I have had a very long few weeks.” He turned and walked away, dejected.

“I’m sorry,” the Fox whispered after him, hanging his head. “But I can’t. I’m not as strong as you thought I was, Kassandra.” An eagle screeched overhead and he swallowed back a shuddering breath, clearing his throat and plastering on a smile for his customers. Bayek wouldn’t want him to grieve over freshly-torn open old wounds.


	5. Fox in Firenze

Ezio was... Something else. Nothing like Kassandra, Bayek, _or_ Altaïr.

Volpe had been drawn to the Auditore family way back when they had fled Venice and started anew, and he’d stuck with them ever since. Off in the shadows, helping, guiding. Never getting close enough for anyone to see who he really was. The legend of La Volpe, the Fox of Firenze, had circulated for decades and most thought it was a title passed from father to son.

And then came Ezio. The Fox had been downstairs in Giovanni’s study, the both of them speaking with Lorenzo De Medici about the state of affairs in Tuscana earlier that afternoon. They had only recently arrived in the study after a courier had come to tell Giovanni of his child’s impending birth, and Giovanni had left the meeting without his documents, something that necessitated a laugh from Lorenzo and a huff from the Fox as he gathered the papers up and followed after the Auditore. Not keen on peeking in on matters belonging to a family he was purely on business terms with through the Brotherhood, he had remained downstairs.

And then a sharp, tiny cry had pierced the air and carried down the steps, and a shiver had gone down the Fox’s spine. _Eagle’s Kin_.

It was an innate sense, recognizing someone by their soul, and it was only possible by his unique teachings on utilizing his Sixth Sense separately from his other five. He just _knew._

Unable to help himself, he crept up the stairs and hovered just beyond the partially open door. New parents were quite protective of their young regardless of species, and he was wary of incurring Giovanni’s ire for getting too curious. He needn’t have bothered. The door opened fully, the man dragging his associate into the room while the babe was swaddled in a blanket and his exhausted mother was covered to protect what little was left of her modesty, and As soon as the child had been cleaned he was being brought straight back into his proud father’s arms.

“His name is Ezio,” Giovanni whispered, beaming. “Federico has a brother.” The Fox blinked at this, entirely helpless from reaching toward the infant with outstretched fingers nor capable of withdrawing when Ezio grasped one of them tightly in a fist. His father chuckled at this. “He seems to like you.”

“I am a very likeable person.” The Fox swallowed back tears and sighed as Ezio’s soft sniffles and entirely innocent predicament chipped away at the wall he had built around his heart.

He would never take Bayek’s place. But what the Fox now realized was that he wasn’t supposed to. And that was...

That was fine, actually. More than. He held slight regret now for his treatment of Altaïr, but there was no time to dwell upon it as Giovanni was placing the precious bundle in his arms and moving to attend to his wife.

Ezio stared unblinkingly up at him, and unlike the eyes of most infants his were clear and a rich honey brown. His mouth opened slightly in a cooing yawn before closing again, snuggling into the blanket and entirely trusting his care to the Fox without the slightest sign of unease.

No, this child had not been born remembering what had been. The Fox could sense that. But the potential lay buried, awaiting a trigger.

“You will do great things, Little Eagle,” he murmured. “Like Those That Came Before You.”

-/\\-

After that, Volpe had to practically be chucked out of the Auditore house on a consistent basis. He had a tendency to show up at all hours of the day, playing with the children - even little Petruccio until he became so ill - and he was around so often that they started calling him ‘Uncle Volpe’ without any encouragement from any of the adults. Aside from Assassin work, he would stick around to run errands for the legitimate banking aspect of the business. He made His home - such as it was - in an abandoned attic across the street from theirs.

Was it stalking? Of course it was. He held no excuse if someone were to accuse him of it. But he was stalking with protective intent rather than malevolent. For the first time in centuries, he had friends. He had adopted family. It didn’t matter that they would all eventually cause heartbreak with their deaths, because when Ezio beamed at him with gaps in his teeth he felt he belonged as a silent watchful sentinel, guarding the home and the people that had welcomed him into it. Even now, before the Awakening, he and Ezio held a special bond. The boy seemed to care deeply for him like a brother, like a friend, despite the discrepancies in their age, and the Fox was unable to dissuade that.

He instead channeled it into showing Ezio and Federico how to climb, how to run across the rooftops. This, Giovanni took no issue with. What was less well-received were his attempts to teach them theft, especially since they seemed so talented at it. Within months of Ezio’s ninth birthday both boys were able to perform a perfect heist without getting caught. The Fox prided himself on his Mentoring skills, reflecting not without amusement at the irony that turnabout was fair play as he gave back to Ezio the techniques and lessons he himself had received from Bayek so long ago.

When Federico turned fourteen, Giovanni began training him as an Assassin. Ezio, merely eleven, was considered too young yet to be taught the finer points of their blood inheritance. The thieving skills the Fox had given proved immeasurably priceless when it came to instructing Federico on crowd blending, covert tailing, and free-running. Such were the stock skills of the Brotherhood, and Federico had been given a head start.

The boy was talented. Very much so. But the Fox couldn’t help but wonder how quickly Ezio would outpace him. Even Unawakened, Altaïr had far outstripped his peers to become the youngest Master Assassin to date in the history of the Brotherhood. With his long life now a nebulous dream in Ezio’s mind, surely he would excel even faster.

Except.

Ezio turned fourteen and Giovanni made no sign of inducting him into the fold. The Fox watched, waited, and eventually became quite angry. Giovanni had focused all of Ezio’s lessons into taking over the banking business, choosing to keep him away from the Assassins. After a particularly bad argument over just that, the Fox was told in no uncertain terms to leave the house and its inhabitants alone. Outside of Assassin business - which was to be conducted strictly within the walls of Lorenzo De Medici’s palazzo - they were to have no contact with one another.

That didn’t stop Ezio from seeking him out with effortless ease begging him to teach him how to use a longbow. Oh, no. Giovanni could say what he wanted, but the Fox had a higher authority he answered to than the current Mentor of the Italian Brotherhood. Aside from his own as Keeper of the Staff, he answered to the Eagle’s Kin.

Yes. That was what the Assassins were calling Altaïr’s kind now, in honor of the man himself. Getting the written word wrong and assuming it was to be the man himself reborn _as himself_ into his own bloodline. They didn’t understand how it worked, and it set the Fox’s teeth on edge.

He focused on teaching Ezio any and all non-Assassin skills that he could, such as horseback riding, crowd blending, free-running, archery, and swordsmanship. Not to mention a great deal about fisticuffs, a time-honored street brawl tradition that would serve him well in later life whether he became an Assassin or not.

-/\\-

“I only hope I’m not too late,” Volpe panted as he raced across the rooftops. One of the few occasions he had been enticed away from Firenze... well. It seemed the Templars had wanted the Fox away from the chicken coop. The heist he’d embarked upon had been given with bad information, and he’d felt... wrong about setting foot outside the city. He wasn’t supposed to. Not yet. Not now.

Upon returning early, he had been told by Paola that Giovanni, Federico, and the youngest, Petruccio, had been imprisoned for treason. Ezio had been away from the home on errands at the time and had escaped capture through pure chance, and Maria and Claudia were hiding in her establishment. The Fox had searched the entire city through the night looking for Ezio, avoiding the guards, and letting himself into the Palazzo De Medici to gloss over the information they had collected. There needed to be a reprieve. There had to be evidence contradicting the charge of treason, there had to be.

There wasn’t. Any information of that nature had been withdrawn by Giovanni himself and stored in his home. When the Fox went to retrieve it, he found that someone had already taken the documents in question.

Resigned, he had spent the rest of the evening looking for Ezio only to have nothing to show for it. It wasn’t that he was worried about the boy’s safety. No. Ezio could look after himself. What worried him was that Ezio might try something rash. He was young, and despite the Fox’s knowledge of what he would one day become he was until that day inexperienced. Hard-earned skill was not yet present to temper the rashness of youth.

Leaping onto the edge of a building overlooking the Palazzo, the Fox anxiously paced in a low crouch to curl his fingers over the side of the shingles. The Auditore family were on the gallows, and-

...And there came Ezio, wearing the garb of a Novice Assassin, two Hidden Blades strapped to his wrists as he sprang into a perfect aerial assassination with his feet slamming into Uberto’s chest.

“Welcome back my friend,” the Fox laughed softly, eyes misting and a smile turning up the corners of his mouth as smoke filled the Palazzo and they made their escape. He melted into the shadows and disappeared from the rooftop as if he had never been there.

-/\\-

“Looking for something, Fratello?” A cheeky voice asked as the Fox felt for his coin purse about his waist. He startled, one hand still at his belt, as he turned about to face the newcomer on the edges of the marketplace.

“Ezio,” he said warily, raising an eyebrow as he held his palm out expectantly. “Very clever. Now give it back.”

“I thought I would use it to get a melon or two,” Ezio countered with a sly grin. The Fox scowled. “As far as our relationship goes, _Clever Fox_ , that was _not_ one of the better moments in the grand scheme of things.”

“Bayek’s loss cut me deep, _Little Eagle_ , and I wasn’t able to face Altaïr because of it,” the Fox muttered sourly as he snatched his coin purse and put it back in its proper place with a grumble. “For that I do apologize.” There was a split moment of tension before they both smiled and embraced the other tightly, two old friends meeting again after centuries apart. “How are you, Ezio?”

“Just fine, Uncle Volpe, just fine. Actually. I’m here on business. I was wondering if...”

They melted into the crowd of the Florentine market, a pair of seasoned immortals going about their business unbeknownst to the rest of the world.


	6. Sea Dogs

“Haven’t got your sea legs then, Mr. Gaius Foxe?” Edward laughed. The Fox groaned and leant over the side of the _Jackdaw_ once again.

“There’s naught left in my stomach to hurl overboard anyway,” he complained, retching. “So _why_ am I still so sick?”

“These are rough seas and the winds are against us,” Edward explained, turning his sunburnt face into the fierce gale and squinting toward the dark, stormy horizon. “I hope we can outpace that monster and make harbor somewhere, especially for your sake, but I don’t hold out high hopes.”

“Does this remind you of your Trireme, as Kassandra?” Talking took his mind off the incessant rocking... sort of. Besides, he knew so little of his friend’s first rebirth. He was always curious to learn more. Bayek had talked endlessly of her and yet revealed little, cryptically enough, and Ezio had been too busy fighting the Borgia to really talk about such things. That man had always been on the move, even to his last days in semi-retirement in Constantinople with Sofia running her father’s old bookshop as a front for the Brotherhood there. Of course, the Fox had stayed in Rome struggling to unite the various thieves’ guilds under one banner back then...

“With every passing rebirth she becomes fainter and fainter,” Edward admitted softly, drawing the Fox’s abrupt attention from the past and the ship. The next words spoken chilled him to the bone even more than the cutting winds were capable of achieving. “I’m losing pieces of our time together in Egypt and the Sinai, Foxe. I feel a deep kinship with the sea through Kassandra, yes, but I couldn’t tell you what color her eyes were or if she had two brothers or two sisters. I just know that there were two. I remember... Natakas and Elpidios. Vaguely Darius. Family... family lasts longer because I deeply cared about those people.”

“You’re saying... I have to remember while you slowly forget?” The Fox whispered. Edward winced, tilting his head and nodding.

“I will never forget all that you mean to me, Clever Fox,” he murmured. “Where I have to act and hide before others to keep up the appearance of a young scoundrel, here in this moment I can mourn my lost past without judgement. Adé and Mary know my secret but they don’t _understand._ They are sympathetic but can’t relate. But you. You were _there_. You already _know_. And I don’t have to explain. And... I. I don’t think you’ll ever truly comprehend how much of a relief that is to me to have that haven to return to when I most need it.”

“Do you truly think you don’t provide the same haven for me, Little Eagle?” The Fox asked, brow furrowing. He laid his hand on Edward’s shoulder and sighed. “We cling to each other like a ship seeking the calm winds in the center of a storm, my old friend. You have been my Mentor, my Brother, my nephew, my friend. I have been your student, your confidante, your uncle, your friend. We need not be ashamed of seeking one another’s comfort with all that we have seen.”

“Truer words,” Edward murmured vaguely. Together they leant against the side of the ship and watched the horizon, the storm clouds chasing them, their elbows lightly grazing one another in silent easy companionship where their arms braced on the wood guarding. They were on equal footing once again, friends meeting after years apart, but in some ways no time had passed at all. They were, paradoxically, brothers in creed, mentor and student, student and mentor, uncle and nephew, all at once yet not at all.


	7. Silver Foxes

Ratonhnaké:ton scowled as Connor landed on his shoulder, wings beating powerfully to achieve balance. Two months ago he had been speaking with George Washington and the silly Eagle had done that, and now he was sitting at the table in the kitchen of the homestead reading a newspaper brought in by Jenny from New York that the Bald Eagle had been made the national bird.

“You’re a menace,” he muttered. Connor squawked and tugged at the fringe of bangs he’d recently begun growing back, making him wince.

“No birds allowed at the table, I think was mother’s rule back in London,” Haytham remarked as he came down for breakfast. Ratonhnaké:ton groaned and shook Connor off; the feathered terror sulkily gliding up into the rafters and perching there to glare down at them.

“Yes, well your mother isn’t here, and Connor wasn’t invited inside,” he said sourly. “Someone left a window open.”

“Ah. Jam please.” The jam was handed over without comment and Haytham began spreading it over his toast. “Thank you. What’s your agenda today?”

“Miriam needs to work on her stealth tailing of an intelligent target, but I think we’ll be having a ceremony by the end of the summer.” There was a pause. “Would you like to attend that?”

“I... I- I would, but...” Haytham frowned, then swallowed. “Are you sure it’s appropriate, having a Templar Grandmaster present at your ceremonies? I’d rather think it’d be the Wolf among the Sheep.”

“A Fox among the Eagles, more like,” Ratonhnaké:ton retorted with a small smile. There was a soft scuffling noise from the hidden basement and he pinched his nose with a tired sigh. “Speaking of which...”

“Hello Haytham,” the Fox said cheerfully as he emerged from the depths, dust caught in his hair and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Haytham’s eyes widened comically.

“U-uncle Gaius?” He stuttered.

“I go by Cassius now, but yes. That’s me.”

“You haven’t aged a day...”

“Haven’t for decades, thanks for noticing.” The Fox sat at the table and helped himself to the toast and jam, ignoring Haytham’s slack jaw across from him as he settled into his breakfast. “Almost two millennia, if I’m being honest. Give it a couple more centuries.” He pointed at Ratnhnaké:ton, who groaned. “That one is already past the two millennia mark. Of course, if you factor in his first life, it’d be more around seventy-seven. Then again, the technological leap backward between that life and Kass-“

“Clever Foxes are still caught in traps,” came the acerbic reply. “Why don’t you and Haytham catch up while he shows you the settlement? That way I don’t have to hear jokes made at my expense and you won’t be tempted to make them?”

“Oh, I’ll still make them,” the Fox laughed, waggling his eyebrows at Haytham, who smirked and hid said smirk behind the rim of his teacup. “Bet there’s a few I can make of your father now that you’re old enough to hear them, lad.”

“Yes, please-“

“I’m leaving now,” Ratonhnaké:ton said abruptly, standing and walking out the back door. The pair left in the kitchen were silent for a few moments before dissolving into a bout of snickers.

“Now he’s gone, I can catch up with one of my favorite nephews.”

“‘One of?’” Haytham echoed. “How many-“

“Kid, when you get as old as me... you accumulate a lot of adopted relatives.” The Fox leant back in his seat and took a swig of his morning tea, swallowing with a light cough as it went down the wrong way. “Suffice it to say I’ve been friends with the Eagle’s Kin since they were Kassandra. Bayek was my mentor, and I admittedly kept my distance from Altaïr. But Ezio and his three siblings called me ‘Uncle’ just as you do. They were raised with me being their father’s close friend. Edward was a good friend. Now, Ratonhnaké:ton is an interesting story. Because he’s the grandson of his past self... it’s a bit strange. I’m not sure how to address it. I tend to act as if he’s still Edward, when he’s not, and there’s going to be an adjustment period years in the making it seems."

The Fox shrugged.

“Ah, well. It’ll all smooth out in the end. How are you making out, Haytham?”

“So-so.” There was a pause as Haytham raised his eyes to the ceiling with a long-suffering huff. “Had to help my son, who is the reincarnated spirit of my father, assassinate the members of my own Templar Rite because they had indulged too heavily in selfish endeavors. You?”

“Apparently better than _you_ ,” the Fox muttered, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve been down in New Orleans for a considerable amount of time. Helping a young Assassin grow her order. But now I’m needed up here to help rebuild this one.” Another pause. “You won’t be sabotaging that, now will you.”

“That sounds more like a warning rebuke than a question.”

“And the correct answer is ‘of course not,’ in case you were wondering.” He stood from his seat and waited for Haytham to do the same. “Come on, then. Lead me around this settlement you’re all so proud of.”

“With pleasure.”

They walked side by side, Haytham casting tiny side glances at the Fox every once in a while, brow furrowed in contemplation. The man was about ten years his younger in terms of looks, his eyes ageless, and he carried himself with an easy loping stride that leant itself well to springing into a full run. He showed none of the signs of fatigue that time bestowed upon people around their number of seeming years and all of the personality quirks of a man far older.

He was, in effect, just as Haytham had remembered him being from his youth. And wasn’t that something.

“I carry on my person an artifact of Those Who Came Before that grants me immortality,” the Fox said easily, startling Haytham out of his reveries. “It was gifted to me by Kassandra, entrusted so to speak, so that I might be able to aid and guide the Eagle’s Kin throughout their collective lives. It’s a burden I shoulder somewhat resentfully but with dignity and honor. In answer to your unasked question.” His lavender eyes glittered underneath his cowl and Haytham chuckled, nodding.

That was Uncle Gaius - well, Cassius now it seemed. He was never one to pull any punches.

“It’s odd,” Haytham admitted. “I’m walking here with a man who appears my younger that I once rode upon the shoulders of as a small boy, speaking of times and things long past.” A pause. “Does it ever get any less stranger for you, this immortal business?”

“Not in the slightest. I used to babysit you, and now you’re old enough to have grandchildren of your own...”

“Don’t remind me,” Haytham laughed. “I’m still in denial that I’m over fifty, let alone over fifty-five. Still... you don’t often expect to reach old age in this War of ours. Only the best usually achieve that. The rest try to retire and the moment they let their guard down, that’s that.”

“I think the _both_ of us are still very much in the game,” the Fox commented, nodding toward a pair of women loitering outside the inn. They both blushed and scurried back inside. “If that reaction is any indication.”

“Ziio is the only woman I could ever see myself with,” Haytham sighed softly. He made an effort to smile. “Ratonhnaké:ton is so much like her, despite being Eagle’s Kin... being near him soothes me. Not that I’ll ever tell him that.”

“No, of course not,” the Fox snorted. “I have never seen, in any of their lives, a need for more validation than they already possess.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Translation: no need to stroke the ego any further.”

“None more true than my father.”

“Mm. But not Ratonhnaké:ton. He’s much more sensitive and naturally humble. Prone to arrogant or over-confident outbursts, but much more down to Earth as it were. Curious, considering they all behave as if their feet walk as silently as if upon clouds and their heads stay firmly fixed upon whatever objective lies in front of them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Haytham responded with a thoughtful nod. “Thank you...

“...Uncle Gaius.”

“My pleasure as always, Haytham.”


	8. Brushfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarity of narrative, this chapter should be read before Chapter 23 - Arno’s Journey II: The Enemy Within from “Eagle’s Kin.”

“You ever stop and think about what happened?”

“Hmm?”

“How history always seems to repeat itself.” Arno took another swig from his wine bottle and swallowed. Cheeks flushed, eyes glassy and dilated, head lolling slightly from shoulder to shoulder, he was faring little better in this mutual drowning of immortal sorrows than the Fox was.

“I remember doing something very similar to this a few centuries back,” the Fox replied. “But somehow I think we _both_ held our wine better in those days.”

“It was weaker back then, only a few years old,” Arno chuckled, accent inflected heavily with Italian as he indulged in the memory the Fox had offered up. “This...” he held up his bottle, letting it knock against the Fox’s with a wry smile. “This is the good stuff. Fermented for a good long while. Strong, tasty... not at all as watery as the cellar we raided in Roma.”

“Of course, we drank well enough of that to produce the same effect,” the Fox mused, taking another pull. Sitting on the rooftop of the café, overlooking the smoky skies of Paris from the multitude of bonfires.

“Well. When I- about history. Well. I meant. I meant that. The- firey... smoky... Rome,” Arno mumbled. “It reminded me of Rome burning.”

“Oh? I wasn’t aware you were there.”

“I wasn’t. But I can imagine, after what happened in Alexandria. Were you?”

“No. But I arrived... after. To see what was left of our people. We rebuilt, a shadow of what we once were...” he blew out a breath. “I made the vault for Brutus’ armor as a shrine, charged those that remained to hide the keys as they saw fit. I then returned to Cyprus, to carry on leading our brothers as you had wished me to.”

“What about the Purge?”

“The... the Purge.” The Fox shuddered, downing what was left of his bottle and grabbing another in one smooth movement before taking a hefty swig of that and swallowing. He coughed. “Even now it haunts my dreams. Turning even the worst of nightmares into terrors beyond my imagining. And the worst part is that I’m remembering.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I do, Arno. I do. You need to know, and I need someone to talk about it to. And I think we’re both drunk enough for it by now, eh?”

“...Mm. You, maybe. Me, I need another bottle.”

“It was a lot like Paris is now,” came the casual reply. “The Crusaders came in, the Order of the Ancients among them, and the Hidden Ones were caught to become peacekeepers when we were meant to be Assassins and Spies. The entire city erupted in chaos. Brothers, fighting brothers. Children against parents. Neighbor on neighbor. I sent the Novices away. Al Mualim among them... I knew not where they would end up but it was my duty to save them. They were taken in by sympathizers in Masyaf and set up in the ruins of the old Keep, restoring it to its former glory.

“By the time I found them, they had regrown their numbers and Al Mualim was an old man. The young ones knew me not, the old ones set in the ways he had set down. I had no place among my... my family.” Another swig of wine was taken and he slumped further against the chimney he had his back against. “I was lost, my friend. Lost with no direction or purpose. So, as a Roman who, despite my best efforts to blend in with society, stuck out for my features and complexion, I migrated to Jerusalem. And there I set myself up a very lucrative melon trade.”

“Oh, not the melons again my friend, not the melons,” Arno whined. “Anything but the melons...”

“I shall sell them for a tenth the price!” The Fox said cheerfully, slipping effortlessly into his old accent and mannerisms. “For you? Ah, but for you... they shall be triple.”

“Right, that’s it, now you’re for it,” Arno snapped, stumbling unsteadily to his feet and sliding into a tackling stance. The Fox yelped, also unsteady on his feet, and thus began a drunken chase across the rooftops of Paris.

It ended, of all places, with the awning they landed on tearing and depositing them into the melon stall directly below, where they lay laughing at irony while the vendor shouted abuse at them.


	9. Den Brothers

“Why is it, whenever _you_ start something, _I’m_ the one that has to drag you out of it?” The Fox grumbled as he dragged a half-drowned Jacob out of the Thames.

“Because you were friends with my father and my sister is Eagle’s Kin and my death would be averse to her happiness or wishes?” Jacob suggested with a cough, flashing his most convincing puppy-dog eyes and struggling to a stand.

The Fox sighed. Yes, was the answer. Yes to all of the above. He’d met their father shortly after the twins had been born and had been compelled to tell the parents about their daughter’s true nature. She had been raised differently from the start, Jacob along with her as not to feel left out, the pair inseparable in their studies. They had been told, together, what Evie was when they were ten, having been raised on Assassin lore and legends as bedtime stories. This was done so that they could understand the Awakening and Settling period, so that there would be no awkwardness when she eventually Emerged.

The Fox had been assigned their unofficial tutor beside their established one in George Westhouse, teaching them all that he knew and keeping a watchful eye on both, and when Ethan Frye died after a long fight of being bed-bound he had absconded with the two rascals to London. Evie had Awakened when she had attempted to retrieve an Apple from a Templar laboratory, the explosion that resulted from it going up in flames reaching for her deeply-buried instincts. Due to their training this caused nary a pause in stride or moment of adjustment for either Frye Twin, though Evie was suddenly much more casual and on equal footing than she had previously been with the Fox beforehand.

‘Uncle’ Gilbert Foxe was reported to come from a proud pedigree of Assassins such as Gaius and Cassius Foxe of the colonial and revolutionary period, and he was ‘proud’ of his ‘ancestors’ and their accomplishments. The Fox liked Evie for her inquisitive yet aloof nature, seeing glimmers of Altaïr every chance occasion in her actions. Jacob reminded him whole-heartedly of Edward in his mannerisms and personality, and both had an appreciation for Assassin history that quite frankly would not have been mutual if not for Evie being Eagle’s Kin.

Jacob bored easily when it came to dry text, but he ravenously lapped up any and all information pertaining to the past Eagle’s Kins. He was territorially proud of his sister’s prior accomplishments and what she had done for the Assassins, and he loved tales of the Caribbean most. Before being told of the Assassins, he had wanted to become a pirate when he grew up, after all... learning that a man could be Assassin and Pirate both had been like a dream come true, and he idolized Edward for it.

Hilariously, this hero worship did not extend to his four minutes elder sister Evie, and it showed in the way they quarreled and bickered and competed. By the time he was fourteen he had broken into and explored in its entirety save for the hidden vault the Kenway Mansion no less than seven times, Evie electing the remain at home and study. Of the two, she was certainly the more cerebral. Even from a young age she had a mind for languages and lapped up old texts like dry parchment soaking up spilled ink. And here, now, in London, she was proving her mettle a thousand times over.

Locating the Shroud of Eden was a top priority and with the help of Jacob’s Rooks and the Fox’s Homeless Spy Network she had eyes and ears all across the city. Like Ezio in Rome, she had the Victorian version of mercenaries and thieves, and none of them paid any more than lip service to Starrick when pressed. Her Eagle, purposefully named ‘Jacob’ to irk her brother, was a handsome Pallas’ Fish of Indian provenance and he had been a gift from Henry. Jacob spent most of his days relaying messages among their contacts across London.

But of course, there was another Jacob that was the Fox’s main concern at present...

“What am I going to do with you?” He groaned. “You destabilized the national bank!”

“But I thought Assassins _liked_ tax eva-”

“The entire city will be in chaos, Jacob. Did you think of that? To assassinate a banker, you don’t do it _in the bank._ You wait until he has left from home, and strike while he sleeps. A simple smothering should suffice to make it look like he died of natural causes.”

“That’s not what Ezio did,” Jacob muttered petulantly, wringing the tails of his coat out with a scowl.

“Ezio needed to make a statement, and _The_ Banker was not in actuality a banker of much importance outside of his bribery and lending schemes. His game was extortion and he played it well. Your target _actually ran something_.” The Fox poked him between the eyes. “Use your head, Jacob. I know you have a brain. You’re a smart man, and an impressive student when you actually focus on your studies. I know you’re much more a man of action, but remember that even Edward calculated the trajectory and location of his ship by merely way finding the stars. It’s a skill that takes considerable astronomical and mathematical precision.”

“I need to calculate before... I make my move,” Jacob summarized, his frown becoming thoughtful. “Because... because this isn’t a game, it’s a very serious mission. My sister would not be what she was if what we were doing was trivial.” For the first time understanding darkened his usually-carefree expression. “Playing anarchist won’t help our Brotherhood, and anything Evie does could potentially be ruined by my actions. If... If I want to make a difference, to matter, I need to be more mindful of the bigger picture. Yes?”

“Every small pebble creates large ripples,” the Fox replied, drawing upon Jacob’s hero worship of the Eagle’s Kin in general. Reminding him that even his rough-and-tumble heroes were cautious of setting off chain events seemed to be the best strategy. “You should remember this well from the lessons and stories I have shared with you. It is the core foundation of Templar dominance over a people-group that all things are bound to cause and effect and inter-connected.

“Starrick sits in a spider’s web and each strand is bound to the others. The slightest tremor in one sets the entire web trembling, alerting him of something bigger than a mere act of circumstance.”

“He’s after the Shroud, to become all-powerful and control the world from London,” Jacob realized. “That’s why Evie wants to find and hide it securely so badly. To keep him from gaining it.”

“And she trusted you to weaken his defenses, his grasp, over the city to make it more difficult to keep a seat of authoritative power. Not the act of a revolutionary in an age of New Empires, but that of a patriot seeking to free their homeland from oppression.”

“But she- she’s so _blind_ to anything but the Shroud!” Jacob began to pace and the Fox sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She only stops to check on progress _after_ it’s been completed, and she critiques my work!”

“An Eagle’s Kin is not faultless, Jacob, remember that,” came the patient if long-suffering reply. “Evie’s obsession with the Shroud is born of subconscious Isu knowledge of its full capabilities from her first life. While an Eagle’s Kin may never regain those memories, there _are_ things that linger. And, unfortunately, it creates a sort of... draw. A... magnetism. Altaïr was too curious of the Apple he held, Ezio too wary. The Pieces of Eden are their Achilles’ Heel, my rash friend.”

“Is it my job, then, to help _her_ see the big picture just as _she_ seeks to help me see it?”

“You balance one another well, covering each other’s faults. It’s a decent system. But only if it operates correctly.”

“She and I need to have a talk it would seem,” Jacob mused.

“Yes, well, right now you might want to run,” the Fox warned, eyes widening as an absolutely _livid_ Evie came racing toward them. “Matter of fact, I think I’ll join you. There’s liable to be collateral damage with the way she is right now.”

“Received, understood, and enacted,” Jacob muttered hurriedly before bolting, the Fox directly on his heels.


	10. Fox Among the Hens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to Ubisoft being stingy with Desmond content we have no idea what the name of Desmond’s mother is. Well, for a chapter that delves into his childhood, that just won’t do. So I made one up. If it ever gets revealed (which I doubt because again this is Ubisoft), I don’t think I’ll change it. This was a crack fic to begin with that kind of got away from me.
> 
> For clarity of narrative, this chapter should be read before Chapter 24 - Desmond’s Journey II: It Comes Back To Haunt You from “Eagle’s Kin.”

Desmond wasn’t like the others. The Fox had known that since the start.

He’d been in Rapid City, South Dakota, on a layover flight from New York to Pasadena and had decided to take the time during the halt in air traffic due to a particularly bad blizzard warning to go on a wander in search of a decent coffee shop - not that he was expecting one not located in Italy - when he’d run into a collective group of young families trying to stock up on supplies before winter came. Out of this horde of entranced children - it would later become incredibly evident that none of them had ever been to the city before - emerged a boy with dark, fluffy tousled hair and golden eyes.

The boy froze the Fox in his tracks, looking like a young Ezio to such an extent that he actually flashbacked for a moment to Florence, and with the crowd bustling about them the boy was soon lost in the shuffle.

“You won’t find one,” came a small voice in a mix of flawless Latin and Renaissance Italian. The Fox whirled around to stare at the boy blinking up at him, transfixed. “Trust me. I’ve looked. There’s a spot that serves superb hot cocoa though.”

It was as if every word were spoken in a different language, moving from extinct to dated or vaguely modern. Not a single one seemed to correlate to the other, a jumbled mix that the Fox barely managed to puzzle out. And none of it was in modern Americanized English.

“How long have you known?” He asked softly, raising an eyebrow. Arno had been young, but not _this_ young. The boy shrugged.

“All seven years, eight months, two weeks, four days, nine hours, and twenty-seven minutes of my life. I know, it’s not exactly typical for me. But still.”

“You must be fun at parties,” the Fox muttered. “What do I call you?”

“I’m not supposed to give my name out to strangers, or haven’t you heard that ‘stranger danger’ is a thing now?”

“Cheeky little-”

“Desmond!” A woman’s voice admonished, breaking out of the crowd and coming toward them. Desmond winced and merely let out an exasperated sigh as his mother shoved him behind her and narrowed her eyes on the Fox. “Was my son bothering you?” The question indicated anything but had happened, the left hand fingers flexing ever so slightly in readiness to engage her hidden blade and protect her child.

“No. I was asking about looking for a decent coffee shop.” The Fox smirked. “Your son was kind enough to tell me they’re all crap and to not waste my money. Unless it’s on hot chocolate. A wisdom I will employ, and with that I take my-“

“He spoke to you?” The woman asked sharply, eyes widening, entirely ignoring the Fox’s prone position as he was caught in a polite half-bow of cordial exit. She swung around to stare at her son. “You spoke to him. You actually said something?”

“Of course I did, mother,” Desmond sighed softly, scuffing the toe of his boot in some muddy snow sludge on the sidewalk. “How else was I supposed to tell him the coffee is crap?” His mother’s breath caught, tears gathering in her eyes before streaming down her face, as she knelt onto the wet sidewalk and held him close.

“Did I... miss something?” The Fox asked uncertainly, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s expected, really,” Desmond said, shrugging as much as he was able with his mother all but crushing him in a hug. “I’ve never spoken before.” His mouth opened and closed several times and his little brow furrowed, obviously searching for a word and having trouble formulating it in English. Finally, he gave up with an irritated eye roll and switched tongues into perfectly fluent Kanien’kehá:ka. «I’ve been... settling. And because I was born knowing who I was, what I am, it took a long time.» Another pause, the next words spoken in Arabic. «Still am, really. It’s why I keep getting my languages confused. Besides, who expects a two year old to have perfect grammar and pronunciation anyway?»

“I see,” the Fox replied, frowning. The boy’s mother had quickly leant away from him when he switched languages, swallowing nervously before glancing at the stranger her son seemed so at ease with.

“You understood that?”

“I’m a linguist,” came the lame reply. “I um... I’m on layover from New York to Pasadena because of the snow.” The even lamer though accurate excuse produced a wince. “Look, if you want to continue this conversation somewhere else? People are starting to stare. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“No! I mean- please.” The words were desperate and tired, and though the Fox knew logically it was better to take his leave and keep a loose watch on the boy until he was older, his heart bid him to stay.

«Hot chocolate?» Desmond asked, this time in Colonial Era Spanish, as he tugged lightly on the hem of his mother’s jacket.

“...What?”

“He wants a hot chocolate,” the Fox laughed, thinking nothing of it as he reached out and ruffled Desmond’s hair, to which the boy grinned up at him with a smile full of missing teeth and laughed. “I don’t want to sound rude, ma’am, but your son is either going to grow up to be an extortionist or a top rank opportunist.”

“And what do I call you, then?” Desmond’s mother asked warily as she scooped her protesting son into her arms, walking toward the nearby coffee shop.

“Gilbert, Gilbert Fox,” the Fox introduced, conceding that he’d been too familiar with someone else’s young child and grimacing. After so many years of kinship with the Eagle’s Kin it was all too easy to forget that he wasn’t actually a member of the family, all too easy to forget that he couldn’t fall back into the role of ‘Uncle Fox’ without first befriending the parents - a task that save for Ezio and Evie had proven impossible to achieve. The only reason she wasn’t murdering him right now was because he knew what Desmond was saying, and Desmond seemed determined to speak in anything other than English to keep that usefulness alive and well.

«You’re one of the most unimaginative people I’ve ever met,» Desmond snorted, reverting back to Arabic and still struggling half-heartedly to be put down so that he could walk on his own two feet.

“I don’t know what you mean. It’s a nice name, I thought,” the Fox muttered, prompting an immediate chastisement for being rude from Desmond’s mother that he allowed himself a small smirk for as Desmond glared at him.

The coffee shop was crowded with people trying to get out of the snow and get a hot beverage, and the Fox held back a snicker as Desmond made a show of opening his eyes wide and innocently to get pity from the other patrons, a trick that actually worked.

“Definitely an opportunist then,” he muttered. Desmond’s mother merely snickered in agreement after the display they’d just witnessed, grabbing their drinks and managing to find a table that had just been vacated near the back of the establishment.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said honestly from where she sat close to her son, the Fox on the opposite side of the table. “But I... I don’t understand what he’s saying. Or even what languages he keeps using. I- Desmond!”

Desmond, tiring of the standoff and deciding to do something about it with the typical impatient bluntness of someone his age, got up from his chair, grabbed the Fox’s left arm in his hands, and pulled his sleeve back to reveal his hidden blade in one neat movement, leaving both adults gaping at him.

“Friend,” he said simply, this time in English, before sitting back down and making no more than the faintest of slurps as he enjoyed his hot chocolate and observed the chaos he’d caused unfold in slow motion.

It turned out that there was a vacancy for an expert in extinct texts on the Farm. There had been some obscure documents they’d been asked to take possession of by the Brotherhood’s current Mentor for the time being, all of them predating the birth of Christ by a good few centuries, and trying to get a linguist out to the middle of nowhere to look over them with the weather as bad as it was was no cakewalk. Radioing in on the encrypted channel to get the all clear from the higher ups, the Fox made arrangements with Desmond’s mother - whose named turned out to be Louisa - to stay on the Farm for a few months to work on the texts.

Unease colored her expression as they did this, a permanent little frown furrowing her brow, and it confused him. Things seemed to be going well. Desmond was finally talking, and while his method of communication was strange there was someone who could understand him. So why was she uneasy? Did she feel it was a trap?

“She’s worried about what father will say,” Desmond said quietly, coming up beside him in the street. The tiny group of families were at last ready to head back to the Farm and the Fox had secured his luggage already.

“How is it that you know me better than I know myself, eh, Little Eagle?” The Fox pondered with a small smile.

“I...” Desmond paused for a moment, making a considerable effort to try and find the English equivalent of whatever word it was he was searching for, before finally giving up and resorting to a tangle of varied language. «I remember everything, Old Fox, as clearly as the day I experienced it. And I lie awake at night and my head pounds. I’m just a _child_. What am I supposed to do, as I am now?» When the Fox glanced down at him he was dismayed to see the boy’s eyes brimming with tears. «I’ve never remembered a last life so... vividly... before, let alone _all of them_. If a man or woman is the sum of their memories, if they’re defined by their actions, then what does that make me? Who am I supposed to be?»

“Yourself, Little Eagle,” the Fox said gently, laying a hand lightly on his shoulder. “And you’re young yet. You’ll figure out who that’s supposed to be when you’re older, I promise. Remember, your Eagle will come to you when you have found your path.” He quirked an eyebrow, desperate to lighten the mood. “And what do you mean going about calling me Old, huh? What’s that about?” Desmond cracked a small smile in response.

-/\\-

It was obvious almost immediately to the Fox why Louisa had been a bit... concerned... about his staying at the Farm. The man was no-nonsense, emotionally distant, and suspicious by nature, and if it weren’t for literal centuries of receiving this sort of welcome from his people whenever he’d been gone for some time the Fox would have taken offense to the cross examination he was subjected to when they arrived.

You could tell the measure of a man in the way he treated those weaker than themselves, especially how they treated their family, and it made his blood boil to watch a man who had just heard his son speak for the first time since being born seven years prior merely huff, shoulders stiff, and bark out the words ‘speak English’ before walking away. Desmond, who had needed convincing from his mother in the first place to even approach his father, refused to say anything at all the rest of that evening.

Unless it was to the Fox. Oh, on that case, he never actually shut up. The words poured from his mouth in a rapid stream of conscious thought, his legs swinging back and forth from where he sat on the edge of the table helping the Fox with his work. Between the perfectly fluent pair of them, the enormous stack would be completed in no time.

Over the next few days - and the days turned into months - Desmond spent whatever little time he had away from training in the musty office the Fox had been given as his office and living space talking and translating old text. His English had improved drastically over that time; though he was still all but mute to his father, the other people on the Farm actually began to wish he’d never started talking in the first place. On the one hand, Desmond was a nervous talker, and the Farm induced an anxiety in him that made him a chatterbox 24/7. On the other hand, it was extremely unnerving to hear a seven and then eight year old boy talking about classic literature with perfect understanding and ease as if he were a grown adult.

The other children tended to avoid him, the adults usually pet him on the head whenever he opened his mouth and shooed him back to the aforementioned children who wanted nothing to do with him.

So he spent his time with the Fox, easily slipping into calling him ‘Uncle Gilbert’ with a long-established routine that helped ease some of his anxieties, and the Fox hated the Farm more and more with each passing day.

It was a compound, of concrete and barbed wire fencing, the structure of which was designed clearly to keep people in rather than out. The children were kept isolated from mainstream society, their lessons in extremely physical matters and a smattering of the ‘Three As’ as well as a recounting of Assassin history that was almost pathetically shameful. The place was more of an indoctrination base than a nurturing environment to raise offspring. Even though the work he had been assigned had been completed quickly after his arrival, the Fox asked if he might stay on at the compound and was given the all clear. He immediately took over the teaching of... well, most everything, really, that involved the mind rather than the body. None of the adults resented him for it, but the kids sure did.

Why? Because they actually had to pay attention to what they were learning. While the other student’s grades dropped due to not completing assigned homework, Desmond excelled. He borrowed any book he could get his hands on and charted the constellations for fun. If left to his own devices, he probably would have thrived.

But he wasn’t left to his own devices, and his being an apparent prodigy at everything he took to - due to centuries of having honed his skill to mastery on any subject or task the Farm could produce - made Bill push him even harder. A perfect, record-breaking time on the free-running course was met with a sharp snap and a tut that he could do better if he didn’t slack off. Practicing fighting moves with natural grace and poise meant that he was chastised for effortlessly evading any blow coming his way and not having a mark to show for it when the match was over, despite his opponent being quickly and strategically laid out on the floor with as few moves as possible for efficiency. Academics meant nothing to Bill, though Desmond excelled at those too.

Years of this, the Fox watched, anger simmering deep within. Of all the father figures Desmond could choose to remember, Bill probably ranked second from the bottom (it was hard to surpass your adoptive father throwing you off a cliff because you wanted your infant sibling to live). Pythagoras came in at a close third for being as distant and... single-minded about legacy as he had been. But Barnabas had taken Kassandra as one of his own children on board the _Adrestia,_ and Bayek had never wanted for a solid role model. Omar had instilled a love of learning in his son before passing, and Al Mualim, despite all his faults and the madness of power he had succumbed to, had been fair and supportive of his orphaned novices. Giovanni, for all his faults when it came to the adult lives of his children, had been a nurturing and active father in their pre-adolescence.

The list went on and on, some father figures better or worse than others, but there was no shortage of them - the Fox himself included on that list for his role as mentor in multiple lives - and when that list ran dry there were the experiences the Eagle’s Kin had had with their _own_ children for Desmond to draw on.

That was probably the breaking point. Without a reference, Desmond might have stayed because he believed in the Creed. But the thing was, he _did_ have a reference for what a healthy father-son relationship should look like. And on top of that, any faith in the Creed one might have was easily waned when one saw how it was being taught to the next generation. Free Will, so precious to their people, was stifled here. There was no choice, not even the illusion of it.

At fifteen, Desmond was well on his way to being on the short side of the tall spectrum. He and the Fox often speculated that he’d taper off around the 6’0” mark like the majority of his past lives seemed to do, especially since he seemed to be wearing Altaïr’s body for a third installment after Ezio had preceded him. He had a slim build with broad shoulders, strong arms, and long legs ideal for running. Nimble fingers found climbing a satisfactory release of energy, and his sharp mind solved problems faster than he could formulate decent answers out loud, often resulting in him tripping over his words. He’d earned the oddly-traditional scar on his lip that Bayek, Altaïr, and Ezio had worn before him fighting with another boy and having that boy’s ring slice open his face on impact of fist.

The day Bill kicked the Fox out by abruptly telling him he had a flight to catch, a week before Desmond’s sixteenth birthday, he finally lost it. The fight that ensued between father and son all but confirmed that Bill felt the Fox was interfering in the way he was trying to go about Desmond’s upbringing, and as the head of the compound it was his choice who left and who stayed. There was work to be done, he said, in Chicago.

and so the Fox packed his things and left before he was forced out, Desmond helping him do so in stony silence and sporting a fresh red blossoming bruise along his jaw for his outspoken protests, and that same evening he was being shown his room in a small Assassin safe house in Chicago.

-/\\-

An Eagle landed on the park bench the Fox was sitting on and he choked on his tea, peering at it with wide eyes. Female, young, and Golden, she merely stared at him before fanning her wing and tail feathers in an arc and screeching at him.

“I see you found your path,” he remarked a few moments later once he’d gotten his bearings and mentally regrouped. The Eagle moved to perch on her master’s shoulder as Desmond sat on the other end of the bench and absently ran his fingers over her head.

“Nike came to me the moment I hit the tree line several miles out from the compound fence,” he explained with a soft sort of satisfied pride in his voice. I left the night of my birthday, came straight here.”

“You made good time.” A pause. “You staying?”

“Nah. I’ve got the Pull. It’s... it’s taking me to NYC. Makes sense, best place to disappear is one of the largest and busiest cities in the world.” Desmond smiled, a real, genuine smile, and the Fox couldn’t help but mirror it. “And. Let’s face it. The first thing they’ll do is mark _you_ in case I show up. They know how close we are.”

“Then what are you still doing on this bench?” The Fox asked, raising an eyebrow. The smile turned into a smirk as Desmond reached into the backpack he was carrying around and pulled out a market bag.

“I wanted to share this with you. You know, for old times’ sake?” Curious, the Fox reached into the bag and pulled out a pre-packaged plastic container of assorted melon cubes. He burst out laughing, the laugh ending with an ill-concealed sniff to abort tears, and nodded, popping the seal.

“We’ll find each other in this life again, Desmond. I can feel it.”

“Me too, Old Fox. Me too.” Desmond let out a soft, tired sigh and slouched backward on the bench a bit as he chewed on a melon cube in thought. “It’s different this time, and I don’t know why, but that makes me uneasy.”

“I can sense it as well, Little Eagle.” The Fox frowned. “And whatever happens, I’m sure it’s a storm we’ll weather like all the ones that have come before it.”

“I think this storm might just kill me. And I’m not sure I’ll be returning from it.”

The words were spoken softly, almost too softly to hear, and the sincere underlying fear of them sent a shiver down the Fox’s spine. He didn’t want to live forever in a world that no longer had a place in it for an Eagle’s Kin.

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: ALL RIGHTS GO TO UBISOFT, ASSASSIN’S CREED, AND ANY OTHER KNOWN AFFILIATES. THIS IS A NOT FOR PROFIT FANWORK.


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